


now you say you might have eyes for me

by who_won_the_race_back_home



Series: she said we're doing pretty good if we can just get out alive [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Trans Male Character, two idiots figuring out how to have feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 03:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13538343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_won_the_race_back_home/pseuds/who_won_the_race_back_home
Summary: Rip lets himself trust Sara a little more, as they stumble into the beginnings of something.





	now you say you might have eyes for me

“I want to touch you.”

Sara was curled up against him, a hand on his chest tracing one of the barely visible scars that ran under the muscle there, what little he had of it anyways. He couldn’t feel her fingers, just the pressure of her touch, the thin white line of skin was still numb all these years later. It was the first time, since Miranda really, that he hadn’t minded someone doing it. Watching her hand run lazily back and forth was comforting.

Up until recently he had never thought of Sara as a particularly comforting person. But whatever this thing they had started–drunk sex in his office and waking up hungover in his quarters, which had turned into sober sex in her bed–he was finally seeing glimpses of the person she might have been, had the Queen’s Gambit not gone down. Or at least someone who was not the angry, lost woman he once falsely promised would become a legend.

In the weeks since she first had asked him to fuck her, up against the wall of his office, both several drinks in, they had fallen back together more than a few times. It was mostly a distraction, trying to keep their respective demons at bay by feeling something else for just a little while. Even now, as they uneasily fumbled towards something that might be more than that, he saw the photo of her and Laurel and Oliver together, sitting on the shelf beside her bed. Maybe they would always be a distraction for one another.

Sara tapped a finger against his jaw and prodded him to look over at her. He had a terrible habit of drifting off into his own head. With over a decade of linear time and god knows how much more traveling all around the temporal continuum, back and forth, he still hadn’t adjusted to having other people around. He was so used to only having himself and Gideon for company that he still would completely space out in the middle of a conversation.

“Hey,” Sara said, gently. “You okay? You’re doing that zoning out thing again.”

He shook his head, trying to put himself back into the moment, and gave her a soft smile. The hand on his cheek moved back to his chest, and then lower to run across the hair on his stomach.

“No, I’m fine. Just–drifting. What did you say?” he asked, then kissed the top of her head.

“I want to touch you,” she said, moving to kiss soft by his ear. 

The hand crept a little lower, the tips of her fingers dipping just slightly under the waistband of his boxer-briefs. All their encounters had been him making her come, the two of them staying mostly clothed, Rip just pushing aside whatever was immediately in the way. Once, the last time, when he had been particularly drunk and feeling a particular kind of desperate want, he finished himself off and let her watch. He couldn’t meet her eyes while he did it, but he could feel their heat on him the whole time, heard how her breathing got a little heavier, the quiet “God, that was fucking hot,” after he came. But today they were both sober, and the both of them had shucked most of their clothes, and it had felt different, that feeling like something bordering on something more.

It had been a long while since someone else had gotten him off, and while he had begun to trust Sara, he wasn’t sure he was ready to face the reality of another person being intimate with one of the many ways he often felt inadequate. There had been so many chances he could’ve had surgery; he and Miranda discussed it over the years, but it was never the right time. Even in the 22nd century he’d still need to take more than a month off to recover, and he couldn’t bear to leave the Waverider that long. Then, once Jonas was born, he had to figure out how to manage his job with his family, making the most of his time with them, and it just never happened.

“Rip. You’re spacing again,” Sara said, a little firmer, but still kind.

“I’m sorry. I just–it’s hard for me.” Sara snorted, and he was not totally convinced that the soul she was brought back with was not that of a teenage boy. But this was one of the moments he found her immaturity a little endearing. It lightened his mood. “Haha, yes, hard for me. You know what I mean.”

She looked up at him with warmth in her eyes and ran her hand over one of his hip bones, tracing a small circle there. After a moment, she kissed him, slow and heady, teasing his lower lip with her teeth. He groaned into her mouth, and felt her mischievous smile against his lips. She kept rubbing at his hip until he bucked at the empty air, his cock starting to rub a little uncomfortable against his boxers. 

Sara was very clever. And very good at this.

“I won’t do anything you’re not cool with, you know that,” she said, stilling her hand. “But I just want to return the favor. You’ve been good to me these past few weeks. Let me give it a try.”

Her lips moved to his neck, biting and sucking lightly at the skin there. “I told you I’ve slept with other trans people before,” she said between nips on his throat. “I’m not gonna freak out at your junk or whatever. And if I’m doing something you don’t like, you can just say so, and I’ll stop, okay?”

The thing was, he did want her to touch him. Badly. If not since the first time, then not too long after. She was magnetic in that way. And despite the fact that she was reckless and brash and a disaster, for lack of a better term, she made him feel safe. Safer anyways. Which was a weird feeling to ascribe to her. But there just hadn’t been anyone in so long, and even though he had been living with the hand he had been dealt for almost twenty years, he still felt lacking. 

But then Sara’s hand was back near his stomach. She was being patient. And he stopped himself from drifting again, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms and taking a few deep breaths.

“Okay. Yeah. Yeah, you can.” 

“Okay,” she said, soft against his collarbone.

She kissed him again, hot and open-mouthed, tongue soothing the bites to his lip. And he knew it was a distraction, a way of keeping his mind off the hand sliding back down his torso towards his cock, but it was a distraction he certainly didn’t mind. At his waistband, she kept moving over his boxers to just graze her fingers over the small jut of his erection. It was almost too much already, and he groaned loudly against her mouth, then felt that cheshire cat like grin again as she moved down to his throat, his head thrown back against her pillow.

“Christ,” he said, a bit embarrassed, feeling like a teenage boy going to third base with a girl for the first time.

She moved back up to his ear, taking the lobe between her teeth. The tug of it made him move his hips up against her hand, trying to find friction.

“Do you always get this hard for me, Rip?” she asked.

He hoped Sara couldn’t see the red creep up his cheeks, because yes, he did, but getting her off and watching her come was often more than enough, and that had been the case for most of the people he had slept with in his life. Even Miranda, who he didn’t let get this close until months after they started dating.

Whatever she took his silence to mean, it seemed positive, because she pressed her fingers firmer against him, making him rock harder into the pressure. Given a few more minutes, he probably could have come from that alone, even with the friction from the fabric of his underwear beginning to become uncomfortable.

He took a moment to look down at Sara, still tucked against his side. Her eyes had drifted down to where her hand was working lazy strokes against him, naked except for the bedsheet wrapped loose over her waist. She was gorgeous, always had been, since the moment he first saw her, but now he allowed himself to appreciate it.

She moved her mouth to his chest, kissing down to one of his nipples. He could feel the pressure of her tongue, but surgery had left him without much in the way of sensation. 

“I can’t–“ he started to say, but was cut off by Sara biting at his nipple. It was more the sight of her doing it than the feeling itself, but he groaned loudly at the sting of her teeth, hearing her chuckle.

“Can’t what?” she asked.

His quiet was a product being a transsexual whose worst fear was discussing his body and a British childhood where no one discussed anything. And he had never been one to talk much during sex anyways, it only brought attention to the things he least wanted anyone to pay that attention to. 

“It was nothing,” he finally settled on, between heavy breaths.

“God, you are just so fucking British about this sometimes.”

“This is–it’s quite a lot for me,” he said. “And I’ve never been particularly, uh, vocal regardless.”

“Noted.” Her voice was teasing, a touch of something devilish in there.

She had slipped her fingers into the fly of his boxers and finally touched him, really touched him, ghosting over the length of his cock, then running one slowly on the underside of it. It felt really fucking good. His hips stuttered in response, trying to get more from her. Just as quickly, she pulled her hand away and hooked her fingers into his waistband.

“Can I?” Her fingers tapped lightly at the skin just underneath the elastic of his boxers, teasing at the edge the trail of hair that creeped down from his stomach.

He blew out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, unsure. It would be easy enough for him to get off with what she had been doing. But it wasn’t about just that. He wanted to not just feel like he trusted her, but wanted to show her, somehow, that he was invested in whatever they were doing.

And that was terrifying. But not necessarily in the worst way. He didn’t need to be naked to show her that, but it was a moment of intimacy they couldn’t go back from, for better or worse.

“I want you to tell me,” Sara said, a gentle command.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Please.”

Before pulling his boxers down, she cupped his cheek and kissed him softly, sweetly. Like she understood what he meant by actually saying it out loud. 

“I like these by the way,” she said as she tugged his boxers down his legs. They had a pattern of little cowboy hats. He put them on that morning not expecting her or anyone else to see them, but he and Sara did have a particular habit of finding one another in unexpected ways.

“Gideon has a strange sense of humor.”

As they were thrown over the side of the bed, Sara straddled his hips, leaning down to kiss him again, as he bucked up against her. He held onto her sides as she let him move against her center. She was wet, and it emboldened him, that something about him was doing that to her. But after a few moments of grinding against her, she started moving down his neck, to his chest, lower towards his stomach, leaving tiny bites in her wake, only serving to make him stutter out quiet moans and feel like he was getting even harder. Finally, she urged him up the bed, getting him to sit upright against the head of her bunk as she settled between his thighs.

“You look good like this,” she said. And before he could respond with some hurried, embarrassed thing, she took his cock into her mouth, running her tongue up his length. The noise he made was probably more embarrassing than whatever he would have said.

But again she kindly ignored it, although he was certain she’d poke a little fun at him later. Her more gentle ribbing he’d actually come to enjoy. His train of thought was interrupted by Sara beginning to suck on him in earnest, throwing her hair over one shoulder to give him a better view. Balling the sheets in his fists, he began to rock gently against her mouth, creating a rhythm that made him feel like he was already tipping over the edge. She used her tongue to put firmer pressure on the head of his cock, pressing her hands against his hips to stop his movement. Within moments, he came quietly, curling in on himself. 

Sara was gentle in helping to ride it out, taking him out of her mouth and using her fingers to slowly stroke him through the aftershocks, while he dropped his head against the bunk and tried to calm his breathing down. Eventually his gaze dropped back down to her, who was looking back up at him.

“That was really fucking hot,” she said, climbing back up the bed to tuck against his side.

He didn’t know what to say, so he kissed her, long and slow. After a few moments his shoulders tensed, remembering he was naked, and he reached to throw the sheet over himself. Sara pulled away and rummaged over the side of the bed for his boxers. Grateful for not having to discuss it, he pulled them back on and felt his muscles release.

“Thank you,” he said, after a comfortable silence. 

“Thanks for letting me see your cowboy undies,” she said, grinning at him and snapping the waist band. “They’re cute.” 

He rolled his eyes and his cheeks went a little red, but he laughed, a chuckle that got Sara going too. Maybe they were good for each other, and maybe there was something here, and maybe both of them were ready to really try that out.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lucero's "Into Your Eyes." I will not rest until they become the official soundtrack to this ship.
> 
> All trans rip headcanon yelling can be directed at angrypedestrian.tumblr.com, because I have a lot of feelings and no one to yell about them with.


End file.
